


Clandestine

by Heatherlly



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2012-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-19 01:17:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heatherlly/pseuds/Heatherlly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione might not be the biggest fan of breaking the rules, but some things are far more important than the risk of getting in trouble. Set near the end of "Order of the Phoenix."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clandestine

**Title:** Clandestine  
 **Category:** Gen (Canon)  
 **Characters/Pairings:** Hermione Granger  
 **Rating/Warnings:** K  
 **Summary:** Hermione might not be the biggest fan of breaking the rules, but some things are far more important than the risk of getting in trouble. Set near the end of "Order of the Phoenix."

* * *

#  **Clandestine**

* * *

Hermione crept silently into the Gryffindor common room, the corners of her mouth turning up in a sleepy, satisfied smile as she fumbled in the pocket of her dressing gown and withdrew a fistful of tiny knitted hats.

Suddenly, she frowned.

The familiar clutter of discarded parchment and candy wrappers her fellow Gryffindors always left behind when they retired for the night was gone. Everywhere she looked, the room was spotless, from the freshly dusted mantle above the hearth, to the forgotten garments that lay neatly folded in an oversized chair.

"Poor things!" she muttered under her breath. "Are they ever allowed to _sleep_?!"

Just then, Hermione spotted a familiar schoolbag that appeared as if it had been accorded a special place of honor, propped up in its own chair and bearing a clumsily scrawled note that read:

"Property of Mr. Harry Potter. Must not be disturbed!"

She stared at it in bewilderment for the briefest moment, before a knowing grin stole across her face.

_Dobby._

The house-elf's unending gratitude, his tireless devotion to the boy who had freed him from a lifetime of miserable servitude, never failed to warm Hermione's heart. It was the infallible proof that contradicted all claims that house-elves were _happy_ to be bound in service to their Wizarding families, that they would have no desire for holidays or wages, fair treament or the right to choose their own employers.

Hermione scoffed to herself as she set Harry's schoolbag on the floor and sank into the tatty armchair. Not want freedom? Respect? Kindness? Ridiculous!

Others might be willing to make excuses to justify the terrible treatment of the loyal servants that saw to the daily needs of the Wizarding world, but she refused to allow them to blind _her_ to their suffering. No, Hermione Granger would not falter in her convictions until every last house-elf was given the rights and freedoms he or she so richly deserved.

During the long weeks of cramming for her O.W.L.s, an all-consuming, exhaustive process that had left room for no more than an hour or two of sleep each night, she simply hadn't had the energy to to knit the tiny garments that would purchase the house-elves' freedom, nor to carefully conceal them where they'd be picked up by those poor creatures who had obviously been too frightened into submission to accept them directly from her hand.

But now that her exams were finally over, yet another night appeared as if it would be wasted... followed by another day of bleak servitude for those sweet little souls who had been given no choice but to obey.

If only Hermione had risen just a little earlier, one, two, perhaps even a dozen house-elves might have received their freedom that very night. Oh, if only she wasn't restricted by curfew, maybe she could visit some other part of the castle where she still had a chance of accomplishing the goal that had caused her to awaken in the middle of the night with a surprising amount of enthusiasm. If only...

When the thought crossed her mind, Hermione pushed it away at first. No, Harry couldn't have possibly have left his invisibility cloak in the bag at her feet, and even if he _had_ , it wasn't as if she could go poking through his things without permission, right? Of course not... that would be wrong.

 _As wrong as being forced to work like a slave, without receiving so much as a single battered knut in return for your efforts?_ whispered a tiny voice in the back of her head.

Before she even realized what she was doing, Hermione had the bag on her lap and was rifling through its contents. Books, several sheets of fresh parchment, a couple of empty flasks, in addition to at least several handfuls of discarded wrappers, old assignments, and other trash that had obviously accumulated for months, if not years in the bottom of the overstuffed satchel. Hermione shook her head in disapproval, reminding herself to chide Harry for his messiness... until she remembered she wasn't _technically_ supposed to know about it in the first place.

Just as she was prepared to admit defeat, her fingers brushed across a folded square of fabric. _It can't be,_ she thought to herself as she withdrew the cloak. And yet, it was.

Her mind was already prepared with a fresh round of arguments. How many times had she cautioned Harry against using the invisibility cloak under anything but the most desperate circumstances? How many times had she warned him about the consequences of being caught creeping through the deserted corridors of the castle at all hours of the night?

And yet, how many times had the cloak proven to be incredibly handy, whether she'd resisted the idea of its use or not?

In the end, one fleeting image was enough to silence all of her better judgment. Dobby's eyes suddenly intruded on her thoughts, wide with adoration, shimmering with tears of gratitude for Harry, the only person who'd been kind enough to set him free.

Five minutes later, safely concealed beneath the voluminous folds of the invisibility cloak, Hermione found herself creeping silently down the stairs. Her heart thudded nervously in her chest, but she never hesitated as she passed the sleeping portraits, though she did let out a small gasp of fright when one of them, an unusually plump wizard who was reclining on a sumptuous daybed, let out a deafeningly loud snore in her wake.

The corridors were empty, dark, and blessedly silent as she continued her descent through the castle. A couple of ghosts floated by, but there was no sign of Filch or Mrs. Norris, not even of Peeves to block her way. Hermione's confidence grew with every step; it was as if the justice of her noble quest were an extra barrier of protection, granting her safe passage as she found her path unencumbered all the way down to the kitchens.

As she lingered outside the door, waiting for it to open so that she might slip inside undetected, the quiet chatter of at least a dozen house-elves reached her ears, along with the sound of clinking dishes. She shook her head sadly, feeling her heart twist in sympathy for the poor creatures who were already hard at work preparing breakfast at three o'clock in the morning, rather than safely asleep in warm little beds where they ought to be at such an hour.

When the door opened, it was no more than a crack, but it gave her just enough room to squeeze in after a harried looking elf, who rushed inside balancing an impossibly large pile of used platters in one small hand. Hermione pressed herself up against the closest wall, realizing she'd have to act quickly in order to avoid detection in the crowded kitchen.

Elves hurried to and fro, pulling trays of pastries from the ovens, frying sausages, and tirelessly working the pump of a strange machine that extracted something she immediately recognized as pumpkin juice into a large vat at their feet. With an enormous wave of guilt, Hermione realized they were preparing the meal she and all the other students would be feasting on later that morning.

The elf working closest to her, a placid faced female dressed in a bedraggled looking dish rag that had been tied in the fashion of a toga, turned away from the cakes she'd been icing just long enough to reach for a container of sprinkles on the table behind her. Swiftly, Hermione withdrew a tiny hat from the pocket of her dressing gown and slipped it into the basket of baked goods, carefully concealing it beneath a fold of cheesecloth.

But as she pulled her hand back, her vision hampered by the sturdy fabric of the invisibility cloak, she didn't see the bucket of frosting teetering on the edge of the counter until she sent it to the floor with a resounding crash.

A dozen small heads whipped around, large, alarmed eyes seeming to be fixed on the exact spot where she stood. Hermione shrank against the wall, holding her breath as the elves tried to identify the source of the disturbance.

The door swung open again, admitting another elf who was carrying a stack of freshly laundered dishcloths in his arms. She took advantage of the opportunity, slipping hurriedly from the room on the heels of a surprised cry of, "What was that?! Something just brushed up against..."

And then she was in the dark, silent corridor again, her breath coming in excited little pants as she waited in the darkness.

"Nooooo!" came the anguished cry, subsequent wails of despair echoing up and down the cavernous hall. "Nooooo! Mipsy does not want to be free!"

Hermione smiled to herself as she turned away, stifling a large, satisfied yawn as she made her way back up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower.


End file.
